Page 21 of Not Catching Love

I still maintain that as you’re not a doctor and you’re not actually giving him treatment, just reassurance, that the rules are loose in your case and you should definitely take him out for lunch.

Me:

Loose doesn’t mean non-existent.

Constantine:

Then cut things off, I don’t know. Tell him you won’t be around anymore and when enough time has passed, ask him out.

The Xander I saw last night wouldn’t be all that opposed to it. The asking out part. The cutting things off … I can’t see that going well.

Even if I could do that, how long is enough time without seeing him, and how do I force Xander to go cold turkey? That’s the real kicker. If I trusted that anyone could take over from me and get Xander to calm down from his panic attacks, I’d stop answering the calls. I’d stop making myself permanently available.

At least, I like to pretend I would.

But deep down, I don’t think anyone can care for him the way I do. There’s no way anyone else at work would dedicatetheir whole damn life to Xander because they’re, you know, actual levelheaded humans. I’ve reached the point of no way out, and now, I have to suck it up and deal with my choices.

I head home and shower after the gym, wondering how last night could have turned out. If everything was ideal and I hadn’t met Xander the way I met him?—

Fuck.

I comb my fingers through my wet hair and tip my head back under the water. It’s official. I hate myself. I hate that I can’t separate work from everything else and that no matter how many fucking times I tell myself to shut up about him, my internal monologue won’t listen. In a weak moment, I warned Madden that I’m dangerously close to overstepping and getting Xander the help he needs, and that thought haunts me every day. Because I know I’ll do it.

I’mthatstupid.

So what, I like caring for people? Maybe have a little bit of a hero complex? Maybe. The entire reason I became a nurse was so I could improve people’s lives in whatever way I’m able to, and I’d like to think I’m improving Xander’s.

Not mine, but that goes hand in hand with nursing.

I avoid the mirror when I climb out of the shower and tug on some jeans and a T-shirt. No matter what I set out to prove last night, Iamgetting old. Don’t they say forty is when everything falls apart? Yet here I am, wasting the last of the best years of my life with no end in sight.

I snicker, imagining Mom’s reaction if I told her that her best years were behind her. She’s closing in on sixty and RVing around the country, doing menial tasks when she can find them to fill the gas tank, and constantly saying her best years are ahead.

She alsohatesthat I’m stuck in the one place, and I sometimes wonder if the self-doubt is my voice or hers.

I leave for the nursing home, walking the three blocks to getthere. It’s a smaller facility and really well looked after. I’ve been in some before that were too big, too busy, and the people who lived there were treated like a number.

Heart and Home has a more personal feel to it.

I greet the front desk staff as I enter and grab my volunteer badge from them. Coming down here once a week helps give me that little bit of purpose I’m always craving, and if I did move away, it would be one of the things I missed. I’m a naturally social person, really love people, and the residents at the home are never short on stories.

After signing in, I head down the hall to the left. It’s a familiar route to the room I use for dance classes, and all along here are various activities taking place. The flooring underfoot is shiny vinyl, the lights in the ceiling were recently replaced with LEDs, and different voices drift toward me from the rooms I pass.

Until one overly familiar voice makes me freeze. “For forking sake, Kevin. I said we’re aiming for a tree. Not a turd.”

There’s muffled laughter, and I stiffly turn toward the open room, assuming I must be wrong. In all the years I’ve volunteered, I’ve never seen him here, so what the hell are the chances? I creep closer, and the quick glimpse of blue is all I need for my suspicions to be confirmed.

Xander.

The room is filled with large paper pads on easels and residents sitting at each one. Chancing another quick look around the doorframe, I watch as Xander paces between them, pausing at each artwork. There are too many people in the room clambering for his attention, so he doesn’t notice me watching him.

Like a creeper.

Which definitely won’t be people’s first impression when I tell them I’m lost. Y’know, even after those hundreds of other times I’ve been here.

But it’s not often I get to see Xander interacting and being himself, and I’m transfixed.

He takes Bethany’s arm surprisingly gently and guides her stroke in a smooth line down the paper. “Like that. Push through the arthritis, girl, you can do it. You’re my last hope at anything even remotely resembling a plant.”

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